I’m at a science fiction convention this week. There’s a lot of people at these conventions that are “household names” within the relatively small community of SF fandom, but who are complete unknowns outside the larger, but still small group of people that read speculative fiction. I lamented to God that it must be hard to be here and be “somebody” and then go back home and be just another faceless part of the crowd. He told me that I was looking at it wrong. He pointed out some of the problems that come with celebrity; paparazzi, fans pestering you at inconvenient moments, all your foibles being up for discussion in the twenty-four hour “news” cycle. These writers and editors get to be celebrities in a staged environment, get to bask in the glow of their fans, and then get to go home, live a normal life, and really relax once the show is over.

For a lot of them, it’s like being Goldilocks, they’ve found the bed that’s “just right” and the rest of the night is nothing but pleasant dreams.